


A warning sign, a battle cry, calling you to arms.

by rl4sb4eva



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rl4sb4eva/pseuds/rl4sb4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becker wasn't allowed a tank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A warning sign, a battle cry, calling you to arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Authors notes: Blame this post (http://arcadianinthewhoniverse.tumblr.com/post/28431933538) on tumblr, and Coulsonian (tumblr) … Not my fault!

“I hacked your personnel file.” Becker stops in the doorway, rucksack slung over his shoulder, mud spattered across his jeans and shirt, small scuff of dried dirt across his left cheek. Skin flushed from exertion and slightly sheened with sweat.

Connor is draped over his sofa, head dangling over the arm so his hair hangs down and his neck looks long and vulnerable. Becker doesn’t drool, but he does shift slightly and drop the rucksack to the floor, letting his keys clatter in the tray on the table before he says anything. “What?”

“I hacked your personnel file when you didn’t come in, Lester said you had today booked as holiday, but you’ve never taken holiday before, and I knew you’d booked Friday off because that’s your birthday, and I was hoping we could go out, get pissed and dry hump in a darkened bar. But then you left this morning really early, and you weren’t answering your phone and Lester said you had today booked as holiday, and I didn’t know why. So I hacked it. I’m sorry and it was a bad idea.” Connor rolls over, bare feet making a soft flump against the thick rug, and his head hanging down between his arms.

This thing, whatever it is, mutual orgasms and amazing sex started when he came back from the past (and doesn’t Becker wish it had been the future, so he could appease his nerdy side, by asking where Connor was stashing his hoverboard…) “Yeah, well you weren’t hear when he died. And I guess I just thought you wouldn’t want to know. You know feelings, personal stuff.” He’s walking to the kitchenette as he speaks, pulling off his shirt, and running his fingers over a vicious looking bruise on his side, letting out a small sigh as he presses a cold bag of frozen peas to the ribs.

“Why?”

“Why, what? Why did I go mountain climbing on the day my father died, because that’s what we did when he was alive, always training, pushing boundaries.” Becker doesn’t look at Connor as he pulls open the fridge and pulls a beer out, so he doesn’t see Connor look a little lost before standing. He does hear Connor’s footsteps as he moves across the room towards him, but keeps his back to him, as he spends a little too long digging in the utensil draw for the bottle opener.

“No, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you think I’d want to know? And you’re going to want to put the beer down. We’re going back out.” Connor’s hand comes around him slowly, sleeve of his shirt brushing against the tanned skin of Becker’s arm as he pushes the beer bottle down to the counter and presses himself flat against Becker’s back.

“Grab a shirt and we’ll go, I was going to wait until your birthday, but I think you need it more now.” He presses a soft, chaste kiss against the bare shoulder in front of him, before Connor moves back, and Becker instantly misses the heat. Connor seems to always run hot, and everytime he touches bare skin Becker feels the heat seep into his bones and make everything right for a few minutes, until he moves again, because Connor is nothing if he’s not flitting around the room, doing things for everyone else.

“I don’t want to go out tonight. Don’t want to have to deal with loads of other people, especially not loud music in a club.” He says as he turns and realise Connor hasn’t moved as far as he thought.

“We’re not going to a club, that’s still for the night of your birthday, I will get you in a pair of criminally tight jeans and a black wifebeater, but for now, I need you to put a shirt on, doesn’t matter which, maybe change your jeans, because we’re taking your car and I know you don’t want to get mud on the seats, which is why I assume you used the bike today. I’ve got a surprise for you.” Connor smiles slightly before moving back in and claiming Becker’s lips in a harsh kiss that leaves his head reeling and his knees week. 

He’s not sure when Connor developed this side to his personality, normally he’s quite content to lie back and let Becker do whatever he wants. He presses back into the kiss, and Connor indulges him briefly before breaking away. “Dressed now. You’ve got five minutes, or I’m returning your present.”

Becker ignores Connor’s almost tangible stare as he slips from the room, shucking his jeans as he goes, Connor is right, he hates getting mud in his car.

***

The drive is uneventful, nothing rampages onto the motorway they are on, nothing tries to eat them from the backseat. Becker hates that Connor grabs the keys and climbs into the drivers seat, but he’s not a bad driver, aside from that one crashed SUV, and to be fair that was mostly raptor damage. So he lies back in the seat, and lets his eyes drift closed to the radio station that Connor picked. He lets a hand wander over the space between them, and rest on Connor’s thigh, nails scritching slightly at the seam, expecting with every passing second that Connor will push his hand away and turn the car round. After about 5 minutes of internal panic, he sighs slightly when Connor lets a hand drift from the steering wheel and he feels fingers interweave with his.

He falls asleep to the feel of Connor’s thumb stroking over his.

***

He wakes when Connor’s hand gently shakes his shoulder and sits up, it’s late in the afternoon and he squints in the low sun. Unable to clearly make out where he actually is aside from the massive hangar in front of him. Connor has pulled the car over and is climbing out while he’s still trying to get his bearings, not bothering to lock the doors when Becker finally pulls himself from his seat.

“Connor, where the hell are we?” And why the hell are we here when we could be back at my place having sex, which Becker doesn’t say as he tries to get his left leg to wake up, and his thumb is tingling, very warm as if Connor only just let go.

“I told you, I got you a present, but it’s kinda big, and you can’t take it home, and you can’t tell Lester, because he said you couldn’t have one, and I kinda sort of pulled a few strings using Lester’s name, only he doesn’t know and will probably lock me in the menagerie if he finds out, so lets not tell him ok?” Connor meets his eyes, half terrified and half babbling in that way that Becker finds endearing, and utterly fucking infuriating at times, as if he’s entirely sure that whole sentence made perfect sense and is also terrified that Becker is going to rat him out to the big bad wolf.

“Lester said I couldn’t have what? The only thing I can think of… Connor? What did you do? Who the hell did you sleep with?”

“Um, wait what? Sleep with, well there’s been you, and Abby, and there was Stephen for a brief period back, way back. “

Becker’s jaw has dropped, mouth open, and tongue slipping out slightly, he may be drooling. Connor has opened the hangar doors and there in front of him is a mud spattered, army green, absolutely gorgeous tank. Turret pointed slightly to the side, hatch open. The tracks are mud-spattered as well, and Connor is listing slightly to the left, pulling away to the side when Becker surges forward and grabs him in his arms.

“A tank? A fucking tank?” Becker kisses him, hands fisting in the back of Connors hoodie and pulling it tight enough that Becker can feel the lean muscle definition through the fabric of the multiple layers Connor is always wearing off-duty.

When he finally breaks the kiss Connor is panting and trying to speak through the panting. “Well, turns out a year of back pay in this job is quite a lot, and as I said I pulled some strings and got it for a steal. And Lester’s name really does open doors. But it’s mine, well, yours.” Connor’s head drops down to his chest, and he bites his bottom lip, suddenly looking more like the dorky kid Becker remembers before Helen and remotes and raptors made him look haunted. “That is, if you still want one? Jess mentioned it and I kinda went a bit off the reservation, and you sounded so happy when Lester said it and then really sad when he said you couldn’t have one, and I wanted you to have one and… I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“Yes, yes you are.” Becker presses his lips to Connor’s neck, and feels the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, pressing closer to Becker’s lips and shivering slightly. “I want to see inside, can I?”

“Um, yeah, it’s open you can just cli…” Becker hears Connor’s voice trail off as he bounds inside, the laugh echoing around the hangar and he sticks his head out the hatch and beckons Connor inside before dropping back down and starting to press buttons and flick switches, carefully avoiding anything that will turn it on and grinning like a schoolboy on the first day of the summer holidays the whole time. He hears Connor drop in behind him, and turns to grab his slim hips before he’s fully in. He hears the slight clang as Connor’s head bashes against the hatch, and feels his arms pulled down as Connor drops to his knees, hand clutching at his forehead. 

“Ow.” Becker smiles as he presses a kiss to the miniscule red patch, and pulls Connor stumbling to his feet, backing him up against the wall of the tank and kissing him deeply.

It gets hot quickly, even with the hatch open, and when he pulls back minutes later, Connor is dazed, eyes hazy and skin slick with sweat. “I think I have a concussion.”

“You barely hit your head.” Becker lets his hands grip around Connor’s waist, sliding his thumbs into the pockets of his hoodie and feeling the brush of cold metal against one of them. “What’s that?”

Connor scrambles to get away, but Becker has him back into a corner and he can barely move, hands fluttering to push Becker’s fingers away, but failing, as his hand closes around the tube in Connor’s pocket, Becker grins, wide and he’s pretty sure, a little bit feral. “You brought lube with you?”

“Um… No. That must have been left over from when… When we had to… You remember with the deinonychus that got it’s head stuck in the railing, and we had to get it out. With lube, after you shot it? Tell me you remember that?” Becker just grins, pulling the zipper on the hoodie down, and spreading the two halfs apart.

“You weren’t wearing this then, you were wearing your coat, because we were supposed to be going to that sushi bar, that served the really excellent lattes.” He says most of this to Connor’s neck, letting his teeth catch the edge of Connors waistcoat and pulling it aside before he bites and feels Connor melt against him.

“Ok, so maybe I, oh god, do not stop that, or I will kill you… No I’ll take back the tank. So maybe I brought lube because the thought of us fucking in here made me so hard, I had to wank in the locker rooms, and it took me like 30 seconds to splatter come all over the door of your locker.”

Becker stops, pulling back slightly and meeting Connor’s eyes, even if they do keep fitfully sweeping the cabin, before meeting his again and then moving off once more.

“You came on my locker?” He says drily.

“I cleaned it off afterwards, and nothing got in, I checked. I may have picked the lock on the door to make sure. And then I may have stolen your spare boxers because I got come on mine, and… this isn’t going to mean we break up right?” Connor mumbles the last sentence, face bright red and blazing hot under Becker’s glare.

“Well, what it does mean is you owe me a new pair of boxers. And that so far you’ve admitted to hacking my personnel records and breaking in to my locker… I am going to hold those over you for eternity.” He presses closer, smirking into the skin of Connor’s neck when he squeaks slightly, he moves his mouth up next to Connor’s ear. “And next time you come on my locker, and yes Connor, there will be a next time, I’m going to make sure you clean it up thoroughly,” he feels Connor go limp against the wall, breath huffing out against Becker’s shoulder. “With your tongue.”

Connor buckles, hands finally moving and scrabbling and Becker’s belt, fumbling the buckle enough to knock Becker’s cock several times before he finally gets it open, surging forward and twisting his head enough to catch Becker’s lips in a kiss, Becker chokes slightly and Connor pushes him towards the console, turning them around so his back is pressed to the buttons and switches, Becker half pulled down over him, one leg coming up to hook behind a knee and press them roughly together, grinding up hard.

“Need you to fuck me, right now.” He pants when he pulls away enough to break the kiss, foreheads pressing together as Becker realises he still has the battered tube of lube wrapped tightly in his fingers, crushing the tin tube slightly.

“In my tank? Over the console? What if you get come on the buttons?”

“Then I’ll clean it up, until I give you the papers, it’s still my tank… Fuck me right now.”

“Trust me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, yes I trust you, with my bloody life. Fuck me.” Becker thinks Connor is going for a growl on the last two words, but it’s more of a whine, and Connor’s hand is fumbling his own jeans open and pushing them down enough to wrap a hand around his own cock, and pull once, pushing his boxers up obscenely. Becker stares for a few seconds before noticing…

“You wanked over my locker TODAY? Those are mine.”

“Yes, maybe, ok, fine. Now to the fucking, please.” Becker loves that Connor is so easily distracted when it comes to pretty much every aspect of their lives, but as soon as orgasms are involved he becomes focused, ridiculously focused.

“Turn around.” Becker twists Connor’s hip to physically move him, nearly taking himself out at the same time from Connor’s leg pulling the back of knee in. before he finally gets the position right, Connor’s hands pressed into small cramped empty spaces of the console, and his head hanging down between them, the air stifling and sticky, and Becker watches a bead of sweat roll down Connor’s nose and drip onto a button. He shoves jeans and his boxers out the way enough that that he can palm Connor’s arse, one hand squeezing the lube out in a slippery stream onto his fingers before roughly forcing two fingers inside. Connor tries to twist away, shouting out, before biting down on his tongue to stop himself.

“Is there actually anyone around here who can hear us?” Becker asks through clenched teeth, twisting his fingers roughly, and merely spreading the lube around, a mean streak making him avoid Connor’s prostate, even though he dearly wants to press against it and make Connor mewl.

“Don’t think so.” Connor says. Although it takes about 4 attempts, several groans and moment where he seems to stop breathing as Becker gives in for two seconds and swipes a finger over his prostate.

“Good. So I can do what I want and no one can hear you scream.” He laughs at his own joke, voice higher than normal and cock digging a path to freedom and Connor’s arse through his opened fly.

He gives himself a cursory glance downwards and sees the purpling head bobbing between the sides of the zip and winces at how close the teeth are, before shoving his jeans down slightly and swiping a hand twice up his length to cover it with slick, before grabbing Connor’s hips and pulling him back slightly, making him put more weight on his hands as his knees go weaker. He’s pressing back already, lube catching the faint light that comes in through the still open hatch and Becker groans as he pushes forward, sinking in to burning heat.

He’s pretty sure that he’s on fire, sticky and sweaty in the stifling air, and his hands slipping on Connor’s sweat-slicked hips, before he gives in and digs his nails in hard, snapping his hips forward when Connor clenches, a groan making his whole body shiver, hands slipping on the console in front of him.

“We didn’t, oh fuck, there, think, oh god, harder, about the logistics of this.” Connor pants out. “I’m gonna slip and get scratched from the buttons and switches, and bruises, and then someones going to see and think I’m in an abusive relationship and, sweet fucking hell, harder you twat.”

“No, because I’ll just pin you down to the bed and bite over every single scratch and bruise, till your twisting underneath me, so if anyone sees you’ll be covered in bitemarks. Less abusive, more enjoying regular sex. Sounds like a plan right?” He’s thrusting the whole time, harder and faster, till it’s little more than rutting, and he knows it’s got to be uncomfortable for Connor, can hear the steady drip of pre-come slicking the floor between Connor’s feet. 

He presses an evil smile into Connor’s shoulder and slips a hand from his hip to run a finger gently, almost barely touching, down the length of Connor’s cock, smearing pre-come and sweat over the searing skin, and gripping harder with his other hand when Connor bucks. Mouth open on a bitten off scream that leaves him gasping, hand slipping even more on the console, and then Connor is flailing to get back into position, before his head smacks into the desk. Becker grabs his shirts and pulls him back, back pressed to his chest, and thrusts up, teeth biting into Connor’s neck as he sighs his release into salty skin.

He fucks Connor as he comes, hips bucking of his own accord, Connor’s hand going to wrap around his cock, before he grabs the fingers and laces them together. “Give me two seconds.” He manages to grit out, as he comes hard, knees and back going weak.

He gets a minute before Connor is whining and shifting against him, hand twisting trying to reach his cock, and he pulls out, shivering at the sensation, before spinning Connor and dropping to his knees (which will not thank him for it later) and swallowing him down.

Connor comes without warning, legs locking up as he empties himself down Becker’s throat and gasps in lungfuls of air as if he were drowning. “Fuck…” Is the only word he says, but it seems to take him about an hour to form the one syllable word.

Becker pulls off of Connor’s cock, and rests his head against the strip of skin between hoodie and jeans. “Didn’t want to get come on my tank?”

Connor laughs weakly, sliding off the edge of the console and down to the floor, gasping slightly as his bum hits the still cold metal grating of the floor.

“That was, um. This may be the best thing I ever bought.” He says as he slumps to the side. Still panting slightly.

“When can I drive it?”

“If you’re gonna do that again, every fucking day.”


End file.
